


side effects may include:

by slimeys



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allergies, Flowers, Fluff, Keith ignoring his allergies due to the flowers, M/M, confessing to your crush with a runny nose, not-so-immediate medical attention bc of Keith ignoring the allergies bc of the flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimeys/pseuds/slimeys
Summary: “Wow… thanks, Keith. It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to get this for me, though,” Hunk says, a little bashful, a little red in the cheeks.“I did,” Keith blurts. “Because I like you.”Keith trusts Lanceone timeand he ends up in a hospital bed, but in hindsight things actually could've gone a lot worse.





	side effects may include:

**Author's Note:**

> my piece for the HEITH ZINE!!!!!!!!! wow
> 
> rose gold's final product ended up being so adorable, and I wanna thank hazel for putting together such a great project and for being a lovely mod and person overall. 
> 
> ALSO thank you to moth for being my beta ily my sweet honeybee

“So—” Lance starts to say, and Keith can already feel his entire body clench up in response.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Lance whines when he notices.

Keith keeps his eyes trained on the open space in front of them. “You don’t need to. I already hate it.”

“That’s so mean.” Lance punches Keith in the back of his shoulder. It doesn’t hurt. “Everything I say clearly enriches your life and you need to hear it. Anyways—”

_Anyways,_ that is a complete lie. Lance could never utter another word and Keith is positive absolutely nothing in his life would change, save for the newfound peace and quiet he would possibly come to know. Nothing has ever made Keith miss his barren desert shack more than the neverending chatter that’s been spewing constantly from Lance’s mouth for the duration of this mission.

The mission itself—going to this faraway verdant planet to retrieve a flower with healing properties for Allura’s sudden alien flu—is _boring,_ especially when compared to some of the higher-energy stuff they’ve been up to lately, but with Lance as his partner it’s become super annoying. This dude could literally talk someone’s ear off.

“Keith! Are you even listening?”

“Yes, I am.” Keith still doesn’t look at Lance because he can’t guarantee he won’t laugh. “I have committed every word you’ve said in the last three vargas to memory.”

Lance’s huge, awful hand plants itself on top of Keith’s helmeted head as he invades his space, as per usual. His smile as he leans in is devious, and his eyes glint like a threat.

“Okay then, so you definitely remember me asking you about your crush on Hunk just now?” he asks, and sirens begin blaring inside of Keith’s head.

The Red Lion makes a hard swerve to the left. There’s a choked sound as Lance is sent careening to the other side of the cockpit with a thud. He stands up, a little shaky, and Keith can feel his glare.

He doesn’t really care. He can’t bring himself to, not when his guts have twisted up exponentially tighter than they probably should, his heart palpitating. This must be an allergic reaction to Lance’s dumb questions.

_“What?”_ Keith croaks. “Why would you—what the heck! Why would you ask me something like that? What!”

He still can’t bring himself to look at Lance, because he’s afraid of what he might see—perhaps the reincarnation of Satan, red-skinned and ram-horned, cackling at Keith’s rapidly deteriorating sense of self-preservation.

“I’m asking you because it’s so obvious! You _totally_ like Hunk!”

Why does Lance always yell? He swivels the pilot seat around so it’s facing the back, then sticks his face right in front of Keith’s, distinctly lacking the demonic features Keith was expecting. Regardless, he suddenly feels like a helplessly cornered animal.

Keith does his best to flatten his expression into something less… agitated. “Of course I like Hunk. We’re friends,” he says, weakly.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Mullet.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Lance, having removed his own helmet a while ago, places his hands to his mouth like in prayer. His eyes are closed and he stays silent just long enough for Keith to think he might actually be in prayer.

“Boy, you know what I mean! I said it earlier: you have a crush on Hunk!” Lance’s hands are waving around as he says this and they make his words seem even louder, loud enough for the whole universe to hear him putting Keith’s business out there for everyone to know.

“Do not!” Keith shouts. He slaps at a hand that gets too close to his face.

“Do too!” Lance shouts back and deliberately smacks Keith's forehead.

“Do not!”

“Do _too!”_

“Do too—wait!” Keith is mortified at his slip-up, letting his guard down long enough for Lance to land another few smacks to his helmet while screeching _Gotcha!_

If Red wasn’t basically self-piloting right now Keith would absolutely drive her into the nearest sun.

“See! I knew it. You are _too obvious,_ Keith.” His triumphant tone is so infuriating, especially because he’s right.

Against his better judgement, Keith asks, “How am I even obvious?” He crosses his arms.

Lance snorts incredulously, exasperatedly. “Where do I even start, man? Oh Hunk,” his voice ascends to a pitch Keith knows he doesn’t speak in. _“Can you spar with me? Hunk, do you need some help making lunch? Hunky-boy your shirt looks so good on you, do you need help taking it off?”_

Keith can’t help but punch Lance in the chest and revel in the small wheeze it earns him. “Shut up, I never said that last one.”

“Oh, so you admit to your other crimes?” Lance says accusingly.

Keith rolls his eyes so far back he sees brain matter. “What, I can’t spend time with him?”

“You can’t when you’re both pining so frickin’ hard—”

“Both? You think Hunk likes me back?”

Lance’s twists up like he ate a whole lemon. It’s very unbecoming, but serves to answer Keith’s question. Bless Lance’s astronomically big mouth.

The twinge of excitement in his chest should be embarrassing, but Keith cannot bring himself to care, not when he’s faced with the prospect of his feelings actually being returned after months of uncertainty and preparing for the worst.

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this,” huffs Lance, pouting. “But look, I have an idea.”

“Oh no.”

“Listen! I’m a love _expert,_ okay? When it comes to this stuff I have great ideas.”

“Okay, fine.” Keith says, even if he has a very hard time believing it. He wants to drag his hands down his face. “Tell me.”

Lance tells him the plan. “What do you think?”

Truthfully, but begrudgingly, Keith thinks it could work.

 

* * *

 

This is not going to work. Lance has terrible ideas.

Keith stares at the obnoxious bright orange flower in his right hand—surplus, from the mission—and then stares at himself in the mirror, awkwardly-stanced and way too stiff. Also, he didn’t know his face could turn that color, or his neck; they’re both this worryingly blotchy pink and burn with a deep heat. He figures it must be the intensity of his nerves radiating from his very core, considering he’s fought full-on monsters that weren’t half as scary as what he is preparing to do.

He coughs, and makes an awful guttural sound to try and clear away some of the cotton packed in his throat.

“Hey, Hunk,” he starts, for the eighth time, “I saw this earlier and thought of you—”

He’s cut off by a string of powerful sneezes that have Keith doubling over and preparing to expel his organs via nostril. When he finally straightens up, his reflected image is blurred by prickly tears. With a harsh rub of his gloved palm, he clears them away, and gets to see that he somehow looks even worse.

This is pointless. How could he reasonably expect Hunk to take him seriously when he looks like a discarded muppet? Clearly, Keith is unprepared to face his feelings anytime soon, and this is not news at all. He’s been good at repressing them for years, and doesn’t know why he thought now would be the time to stop doing that. He should’ve given this more thought.

Another sneeze, the force of which feels like enough to have knocked his brain into the front of his skull, wracks his body. It’s no wonder Keith can’t make good decisions. If he was any kind of capable, then maybe he could’ve decided to not harbor the most intense crush on this side of the galaxy, or walk away from any situation where it was just Keith and Hunk alone without feeling like his heart could actually, literally, sing.

Hunk is just so… good to be around. With his infectious humor and easygoing manner, Keith found himself drawn to him, like a flower seeking the sun, and Hunk’s presence has always been comfortable to be in. It’s not unusual for Keith to get tired of interacting with people, but something about Hunk tires him out a lot less quickly than the others. As content as he is to make small talk and sometimes ask too many questions, he is just as content to sit in silence alongside Keith, doing their own things but still doing them _together_. Time with Hunk always has Keith feeling as though he’s sat in the sun, like a cat.

Right now, though? Keith just feels woozy. His stomach is churning in a way that reminds him of suspicious Garrison tacos, and his whole body itches, in a way that reminds him of suspicious Garrison beds.

He is so unbelievably nervous.

“I suck,” he confides loudly to the emptiness of his bedroom. There is no reassuring response.

Regretfully, Keith spends another 20 minutes stiltedly rehearsing his lines (words are hard for him, even when they’ve been fed straight from the hand of the resident “love expert” himself) and having an identity crisis between each attempt, his constant view of the mirror making him painfully aware of how he’s starting to resemble a lobster more and more.

His body must be working so hard to supply his weak brain with enough blood to go through with this, that his other functions are now being neglected in its favor. Keith’s nose is so stuffy that he’s turned into a mouth breather.

Someone knocks.

“Yeah?”

“Keith?” It’s Hunk. It’s _Hunk._ “I was about to get started on dinner, if you wanted to come help me?”

Of course he wants to help. Saying anything else would be a total lie. The thing is, in this weird nervous and barely-functioning state, Keith isn’t sure if he _can._

“Keith? Buddy?” Hunk knocks on the door again, a little harder than before.

“Y-yeah,” Keith croaks, the words scratching his throat on the way out. He takes a look at the slightly wilted space flower in his hand, and sneezes on it by accident.

The opportunity is really presenting itself _right_ in front of Keith, literally knocking at his door; he should quit thinking about it so much and just do it. Actions speak louder, and all that? It’s worked for him in the past, so hopefully now won’t be any different.

He walks over to the door and slides it open. As expected, Hunk is right behind it, and Keith is instantly blessed by his smile and warm eyes, but for only a second before Hunk’s expression drops into something a lot more… concerned.

“Uh, Keith, are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

The question doesn’t register right away, so in lieu of a proper answer Keith just holds out the flower, pushing it gently into Hunk’s chest, because it is now or never.

“This is for you.”

Hunk looks at it in confusion, but gently plucks it from Keith’s grasp regardless. He gives the flower this tender look, and smiles down at it in a way that makes Keith feel warm inside. Hunk’s smiles could probably cure all the injustice in the world, bright and sunny as they are. So far so good.

“Wow… thanks, Keith. It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to get this for me, though,” Hunk says, a little bashful, a little red in the cheeks.

“I did,” Keith blurts. “Because I like you.”

Hunk blinks at him in surprise, his mouth dropping into an almost cute ‘o.’ Cute isn’t a word Keith uses a whole lot, but he definitely likes to use it for Hunk. There are a lot of things he does that are cute, that normally wouldn’t be if anyone else was doing them.

“You’re _positive_ you’re okay?” asks Hunk. He sounds kind of frazzled, maybe nervous himself, or at least Keith assumes he sounds that way, because he can’t quite tell over the sudden intense pounding of his heart and head.

Never mind. Not good. A fresh wave of nausea hits him that gets replaced by heat, and right then, as he rushes to grab his head, Keith makes the connection.

_This_ is what an allergic reaction feels like.

“Actually, Hunk—” Keith sneezes again, like ten times in a row— “I don’t feel so good.”

“No kidding.” One of Hunk’s hands settles on Keith’s upper back, the one holding the flower, and the other presses gently to his cheek. “Dude, you’re burning up. What else is going on, Keith?”

“I think I’m allergic to that flower,” Keith wheezes, and he feels Hunk’s arms wrap around him. What the—

“Keith! Holy crap!” Hunk cries, sounding like he’s about to witness the brutal kicking of a small dog, and then heaves Keith up over his shoulder like _nothing_. “We gotta get you to the med bay!”

If anyone else was around, they might have said that Keith yelped as Hunk started running down the hallway, but they also would’ve been killed by Keith before they got the chance. In essence, he _didn’t_ yelp. Don't even think about bringing it up.

He’s also bouncing against Hunk’s back like some kind of ragdoll, and he’s grateful for the strength of Hunk’s grip right now. Actually, he’s just grateful for Hunk’s strength all the time.

When they finally get to the bay, and Keith is settled into a bed after Coran administered a space epipen, Hunk stands over him with his arms crossed and his best attempt at a disappointed look. It’s a damn good one.

“I can’t believe you, dude! You willingly interacted with something that was gonna send you into anaphylactic shock—”

“I didn’t know!” Keith asserts for the trillionth time in five minutes. He glares at the ceiling, but only because he can’t bring himself to glare at Hunk. “I just had it because Lance said it would be a good gift for you,” he mumbles at the end, and he _doesn’t_ pout.

“Lance?!” Hunk’s hands fly up to cover his face, but Keith can see his ears flush a dark red as he turns away in mortification. “Did he—did he tell you? He totally did. I’m gonna fight him. I hate him. He wasn’t supposed to say anything, I told him about you in _confidence!”_

God. Hunk is about to talk himself over a ledge. Keith sits up in the bed, even if his exhaustion makes it a little difficult. “Hunk!” he shouts, and it’s loud enough for him to stop talking and stop pacing back and forth. He peeks between the gaps of his fingers timidly.

“Hunk,” Keith says again, quietly this time, “It’s okay. Didn’t you hear me earlier? I like you too.”

His cheeks start to burn again, but Keith is happy to know that this time it’s for a less life-threatening reason. He tears his eyes away from Hunk’s face to pick at one of the small holes worn in his jeans.

Hunk sighs. “I-I did, but like, I didn’t think you liked me enough to get _hives,_ Keith. I don’t know if that’s how the Galra confess or anything—”

Keith grabs the pillow behind him and lobs it at Hunk with no real intent to cause damage, but he grins at Hunk’s squeak when it hits him square in the face regardless. “Shut up. That’s how _Keith_ confesses.”

Hunk laughs, this rich sound, and throws the pillow back at him, but misses. “Yeah, okay man. Whatever works for you, I guess,” he says in this deep, only slightly mocking voice. Keith thinks maybe he deserves a little bit of teasing.

The bed creaks a little when Hunk settles at the edge by Keith’s thighs. His hand lays close to them, and it takes a lot more willpower than Keith thought he had to not nudge Hunk’s fingers with his leg.

Instead, Keith flicks at a knuckle playfully. “I think it’s a good method. Next time I want you to carry me, I’ll know what to do.” He barely resists the laugh that creeps up his throat.

“Don’t—” Hunk snorts and gives him a long-suffering look—“Don’t do that. Please. All you gotta do is ask.”

“Gotcha,” Keith says, because he may actually plan on it.

They sit and they talk for a while, conversation easy as always. Keith tells Hunk about the mission, and exactly how many times Lance fell into puddles of something that was the same consistency as mashed potatoes, and in return Hunk recounts yet another argument he had with Pidge about their different coding methods. He gestures and asserts loudly why his is clearly superior, with Keith nodding and validating him because he knows better than to question otherwise.

(And if Hunk _accidentally_ places his hand over Keith’s on his thigh when he’s done explaining, it’s not as if Keith is going to question that either.)

 

 

 


End file.
